


Dangerous Women

by HC_Weatherfield



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dating, F/F, First Time, Getting Together, Harry Potter is the world's most chaotic roommate, Humor, I won't claim to understand what was going through my head when I wrote this, Inappropriate Use of Charms, Romance, Ron Weasley is Suffering (TM), Sex Magic, Smut, Werewolf Lavender, bisexual hermione, bisexual lavender, but this is a nice story with a happy gay ending, d/s undertones because I can't be stopped, everyone in the wizarding world has ptsd, seriously like half of this is porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HC_Weatherfield/pseuds/HC_Weatherfield
Summary: The war has changed Lavender Brown. Like, a lot. Like, -damn.-Hermione would like to think it has changed her, too.Then again, she would also like to think she doesn't have a thing for werewolves. Sometimes we fool ourselves.
Relationships: Lavender Brown/Hermione Granger, drarry if you squint - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 89





	Dangerous Women

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is just a romance oneshot with a long sex scene. While a lot of my fics contain heavily implied or impressionistically described smut, this is the first actual explicit sex scene I've ever written. So I hope it's good, but if anyone has any (friendly and positive) suggestions for me, I'd be happy to hear them.
> 
> I had a great deal of fun with this, am Big Lesbian and am Soft for them. 
> 
> Oh, and some housekeeping notes: the follow-up to 'Sportsmanship' is in the works, for those of you who have been relentlessly curious about the matter. And I'll take this moment to assert that this is an anti-JKR fic. If you support JKR's transphobic rhetoric then I absolutely want you to fuck off and not enjoy a second of my delightful gay porn. I hope you get a papercut.
> 
> For the rest of you, I hope you're well, and that my fellow Americans are coping with the breakdown of society as well as can reasonably be expected. I know I'm not.
> 
> Ahem. Enjoy.

Hermione was very clever, and because of that she tended to have a great deal of foresight. However, she hadn’t seen _this_ coming.

“Harry,” she said with some trepidation she couldn’t explain, “Is that Lavender Brown?”

Harry looked up at the huge banners in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

“I think so,” he said. “Why is she modelling Quidditch gear? She hates Quidditch.”

“I don’t know.”

“I suppose the war changed us all,” Harry mused.

“It could just be her looks,” said Hermione. “You know, with her scars, how she looks sort of fierce?”

“ _Does_ she,” said Harry with amusement.

“She does,” Hermione sniffed. The two made their way down the Alley to Madam Malkin’s, where Harry was going for new work robes.

“Auror robes, Harry dear?” Madam Malkin asked. The slight simper in her voice had almost become background noise to Harry and Hermione, who were getting used to hearing such a tone wherever they went. “Let me just get the catalogue.”

Madam Malkin bustled about and eventually handed Harry a small pamphlet.

“I think you’re right, Hermione,” he said. “She _does_ look sort of badarse.”

He handed the pamphlet to her. There, on the cover, was Lavender Brown, modelling officer’s robes.

***

_Lavender,_

_I know we were never friends in school, but I felt the need to write to you when I saw your work at Diagon Alley. Your strength and confidence impressed me, and I realized I may have misjudged you (something I’ve done quite a lot of in my life). Perhaps we might talk sometime? I hate to think that I missed the opportunity to make a friend._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione._

***

_Granger,_

_Shove your condescension up your arse and fuck off._

_Yours forever,_

_Lav._

***

_Lavender,_

_Fair enough. That’s the first time anyone’s stood up to me since the war. Tea?_

_Hermione_

***

_You once jinxed all my makeup palettes to turn to mud. Why would I want to have tea with you?_

_Lav_

***

 _I only did that because you covered my copy of_ Hogwarts, A History _in glitter. I couldn’t open it without being blinded for weeks._

_Hermione_

***

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_My client is a very busy woman and does not have time to answer fan mail at this moment. Please refrain from contacting her further._

_Sincerely,_

_Rita Skeeter._

***

“Can you believe this?” Hermione demanded.

Harry shook his head. “The Wizarding world never learns, does it?”

“I can’t _believe_ it,” said Hermione.

“Why do you care?”

“It’s just--" Hermione broke off with a sigh of frustration. “It’s difficult, after all the work I did to bring that woman to heel, to see her going right back to manipulating the public, using the face of a war hero no less!”

“War hero, hmm?” asked Harry, grinning.

“Shut it, you,” said Hermione wryly. “Even I can admit that I’m wrong sometimes.”

“Miracles every day,” said Harry. “Perhaps there is a God after all.”

“Don’t tell my parents,” said Hermione. “They keep trying to drag me to their new church.”

“Ah. One of those witch-friendly churches, is it?”

“They mean well,” Hermione said.

***

A few weeks later, Hermione ran into Lavender on her lunch break.

“Lavender! Hello!”

Lavender turned around. Her neat braids framed a study in contrast: her dark skin sliced through with silver scars, her pale green eyes surrounded by thick black lashes. She was beautiful, and looked murderous.

“I thought my publicist dealt with you,” said Lavender haughtily.

Words slipped out of Hermione’s mouth without her permission: “I can’t believe you work with that woman.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” said Lavender. “She may be vile, but she’s good at her job.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re not a Slytherin?”

Lavender scoffed. “Know any Slytherin war heroes?”

“Aside from Severus Snape, Horace Slughorn, and Andromeda Tonks?” Hermione asked drily.

“Aside from them,” Lavender agreed.

“I always suspected Mad-Eye Moody might have been one,” said Hermione.

“Really?” asked Lavender. “I thought Gryffindor for sure. But no one knows, he would never tell.”

“That _can’t_ be true,” Hermione objected. “I’m going to look it up.”

“You haven’t changed,” said Lavender, amusement creeping into her voice.

Hermione bit her lip. “I like to think I have.”

Lavender looked down at Hermione, who was a head shorter. There was something compelling about Hermione’s openness, something she had missed in the constant social war that was Hogwarts. Perhaps there was a chance they could get along, after all.

“All right,” she said. “Let me know if you find out.”

***

_Ravenclaw._

_HG_

***

_Pull the other one._

_LB_

***

The next time Hermione saw Lavender, it was at a Ministry ball. She looked stunning in form-fitting robes of silver silk, her braids pulled back into an elaborate updo. Hermione smoothed her own plain navy dress robes and wondered if she should have broken out the Sleakeazy’s tonight after all. Then again, what would be the point? She was Hermione Granger, brightest mind in Wizarding Britain, Hero of the Second Wizarding War, Mother to One Grumpy Half-Kneazle and Nagging Roommate to the Boy Who Lived Twice. So what if she would never be beautiful like that? She had more than enough.

“You _were_ pulling my leg, weren’t you?”

The voice came from surprisingly close behind her. Hermione turned and looked up at Lavender.

“No,” she said. “It’s a matter of Hogwarts record. I suppose no one ever bothered to look, because, well...they forgot the records were there.”

“That, or they enjoyed the mystery,” Lavender pointed out.

“Yes,” said Hermione, “I’ve never quite understood that way of thinking.”

“No, you haven’t,” Lavender agreed.

“And you?”

“What?”

“Do you enjoy mystery?” Hermione clarified. God, was this really her best attempt at flirting? Pathetic. She tried to push her own awkwardness aside, though, and focus on Lavender.

“I used to,” said Lavender.

“The war changed us all.”

“I see you’re not much for cocktail conversation, either.”

“I haven’t got a cocktail,” said Hermione automatically.

“Well,” said Lavender, “If we’re really going to try to have this conversation, I suppose I’d better fix that.”

And with that, she disappeared. Hermione stood for a long moment, wondering if Lavender was really going to come back. With a cocktail, for her. And stand here and talk to just her in the middle of this milieu of important people. Then again, Hermione supposed, Lavender had always sort of gone her own way. It had been hard to spot, in school, because at the time her way had looked a lot like most other girls’. But Lavender had always been bold and very much herself. It was probably a large part of the reason why they’d never gotten along.

Which, Hermione thought as she saw Lavender reappear with two drinks in hand, was changing now. Thanks be to Merlin.

“I got you a cosmopolitan,” said Lavender. “I didn’t know what you liked and I wanted to see you drunk, so this seemed like a good compromise.”

“Thank you?” said Hermione, but she took the drink and sipped it immediately.

“I’m glad they’ve started serving Muggle cocktails at these things,” said Lavender, her own drink untouched. “Wizards always overdo it.”

“True enough,” said Hermione, thinking of the time she’d received a drink that produced enchanted bubbles so vigorous they had splashed most of the alcohol out of the glass by the time she could reach it. The cosmo, in comparison, stayed in its place, and it tasted good. Sweet and with that comforting bite that assured her her anxiety would soon fade.

“I’ve been following your work,” said Lavender, which almost made Hermione spit her drink out.

“I didn’t realize anyone was,” Hermione replied in a choked voice.

“Creature rights have become rather important to me. Even having been through the war, I’m lucky to have a job. Most days I only think I have it because these berks consider me exotic and dangerous-looking. And that’s not to speak of the tossers who only want to date me because they’ve got some sort of werewolf fetish.”

Hermione spluttered.

“Got something to tell me, Granger?” Lavender asked, coolly raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of her drink.

Hermione, of course, did _not_ have anything to tell her, because her childhood crush on Remus Lupin was absolutely a coincidence and had no bearing on her current situation.

“Werewolf rights have been particularly important to me,” she said instead, “both for reasons of principle, and because of Teddy. That’s--”

“Harry’s godson, right?” Lavender finished. “I read the case.”

“You mean, like, the case itself?” she asked, impressed. Hermione herself could barely wade through some of that legal jargon.

“Yes, Hermione,” said Lavender, starting to sound exasperated. “It may have escaped your notice in the six years we spent studying together, but I _can_ read.”

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry. Of course you can. I--sorry.” Hermione wondered if there was any way she could summon a dragon to burst through the ceiling. If it had worked in Gringotts, perhaps such a distraction could resolve this much more dire situation.

“You’re doing well on that drink. Will it take another to get you to dance with me?”

“You...want to…?” Hermione looked up at Lavender, dazed. She had been making an idiot of herself at every turn. Why would Lavender, who was so beautiful and so _cool_ , want to dance with her? She wondered if she was being made fun of. She felt like an alienated teenager all over again.

“I do,” said Lavender, and somehow the drink had vanished from Hermione’s hand, and been replaced with Lavender’s own hand. “I used to be afraid of you, so I never realized how cute you were. I’d like to show you that I’ve realized now.”

Hermione had forgotten how _fast_ Lavender moved. And she wasn’t just talking about the dance, which Lavender led, which was probably for the best. It was in the way Lavender looked down at her with such focus, the way she lightly touched Hermione’s hair, her shoulder, her back, with her free hand. The way the hand that rested on her hip clutched almost tightly enough to be uncomfortable, but really just made Hermione feel safe. Safe and...guided. For once, she didn’t need to take the lead.

“I can hear you thinking,” said Lavender.

“Sorry.” Hermione did a double take. “Wait...you did mean that figuratively, right?”

Lavender just laughed and spun them. When the song was over, Lavender led them over to a mostly uninhabited patch of wall where Hermione could stand and catch her breath.

“All right there?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Hermione. “I--look, I wanted to--”

Of course, that was when Harry appeared.

“‘Lo, Hermione, Lavender. Lovely party, isn’t it?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You hate parties.”

Harry shrugged and sipped his drink. “I was just making small talk.”

“Sure you were,” said Hermione, giving him a shove, “nosy parker.”

So he nudged her back. “Just minding my business…”

“Should I leave you two alone together?” Lavender asked.

“No!” said Hermione too quickly. “Harry’s just here because he knows I’m about to ask you on a date and he wants to see.”

There was a momentary pause, and Hermione clapped her hand to her mouth, eyes widening in abject horror. Then the silence broke; Harry was cackling.

Lavender, in a show of just how much she had matured, was doing an admirable job of keeping a straight face.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” she said.

“I,” said Hermione, but that was all she could manage.

“Just to be clear,” said Lavender, “ _I’ll_ be the one taking _you_ out.”

“Now, hang on,” said Hermione, “ _I_ asked _you_.”

“Technically, you did not. So, before you barge ahead: Hermione, will you allow me to take you to dinner?”

“You don’t have to,” said Hermione.

“I know,” said Lavender, “but I clearly want to.”

“Okay then,” said Hermione.

“This is fucking priceless,” said Harry. “Ron will be mortified that he missed this.”

“Where _is_ Ron?” Hermione asked--anything to distract herself from the blazing blush on her own cheeks.

“He was going to come say hello, but he saw the two of you together and ran off.” Harry wiped a tear of laughter from his eye and added, “Like a _coward_.”

Lavender’s grin was joyful and terrifying.

“Glad to hear it.”

***

“I can’t _believe_ I missed that,” Ron lamented, shaking his head.

“And all because you were intimidated by the thought of speaking with both of us at the same time,” Hermione sniffed. Ron looked pleadingly at Harry, then back at Hermione.

“Look at it from my point of view. Two of your ex-girlfriends are standing together, looking absolutely stunning. Would you just stroll up to them? Keep in mind that one of them is the most dangerous person you know, and the other one’s a werewolf.”

“Flatterer,” said Hermione, taking a demure sip of her tea.

“Funny, though, innit?” said Ron, taking on a contemplative tone. “The way you two were with each other in school, I’d never have seen this coming.” He snorted. “I mean, next Harry’ll tell us he’s shagging Malfoy, yeah?”

Ron snickered at his own joke, and Harry suddenly became very busy in the kitchen.

***

After a lovely dinner at a Nigerian restaurant, during which they mostly discussed werewolf rights and their respective careers, Lavender took Hermione’s hand.

“This is my neighborhood,” she said. “I’ll walk you to the Apparition point.”

Hermione found that she didn’t really need to respond. It was nice, walking down the lamplit street, holding hands with a woman who was beautiful and fierce and probably far out of her league. With a pleasantly full stomach and a small wine buzz, she was quite content.

“This is it,” said Lavender. They stopped at a little alley between two brick buildings, clearly a Wizarding location because, for all that it was dark, it was also suspiciously clean.

“I had a lovely time.”

“As did I.”

Hermione looked her in the eye. “I’m glad we’re not who we were.”

“We are, a little bit.” There was a rough edge to Lavender’s voice. “I mean, you still drive me crazy.”

For a moment they looked at each other, negotiating without speaking. Then they were kissing, Lavender bearing down on Hermione with her lips _so_ soft, even as her fingers wove into Hermione’s hair and grabbed, pulling ever so slightly. Hermione melted into her, but kissed with fervor, and it was so much like the both of them, so gentle and so hard.

Melty though she was, Hermione had enough presence of mind to loop her arms around Lavender’s neck so that she wouldn’t collapse as Lavender backed her into the brick wall. There was so much _happening_ , a tongue prying her mouth open, then teeth dragging on her bottom lip, and then she was arching up to maximize the contact of their bodies as Lavender went to work on her neck--

“ _Please_ don’t go home,” said Lavender against her collarbone when she finally found it within herself to pause.

“I would rather not,” Hermione agreed.

Lavender stood up straight then, and fixed Hermione with a firm gaze as if to ascertain the truth of this statement, and grinned sharply.

“Can you walk?” she asked with amusement.

“Are you a witch, or not?”

Lavender took that broad hint and, wrapping her arms tightly around Hermione’s waist, apparated them both into what was presumably her bedroom.

Not that Hermione had much time to take in details. It was just that there seemed to be a bed, which Lavender was precipitously shoving her onto. She tried to kick off her sensible flats while also being kissed within an inch of her life, but quickly lost track of that goal, because, _oh fuck_ , she was melting again.

She emerged from that haze a few minutes later to find Lavender looking at her with a furrowed brow.

“Have you done this before?”

“Excuse me?” Hermione exclaimed.

Lavender rolled her eyes. “I mean, with another woman.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, startled. “Once I figured out I was bisexual, I wasn’t just going to let that go. Especially not with Harry egging me on. He said I ought to research thoroughly.”

“What did you do, take notes?”

Hermione blushed. “No,” she lied.

“Right.” Lavender sat up so she could get a better look at Hermione, but didn’t stop touching her, running one hand lightly up her side and over her breast. “I just wondered because you seemed so…”

“Overwhelmed,” Hermione supplied. “Yeah, well, you’re a bit different.”

“Different?” Lavender froze.

“ _Good_ different,” Hermione rushed to elaborate. “A lot of the time, because of the way that--well, the way that I am--my partners have expected me to take control. Most people aren’t as much of a...challenge? But you can--” she swallowed and blushed-- “give as good as you get?”

“Depends on what I get,” said Lavender, regaining her flirtatious momentum.

Hermione smiled as sweetly as she could, but her mind had kicked in now, and she waited for Lavender to shift her weight-- _there!_ \--and sprung forward, rolling her over. Lavender responded by pulling Hermione down into a bruising kiss, but that was no longer the aim, and Hermione focused on reaching down for the hem of Lavender’s dress, chiffon over silk, because Lavender always seemed to know what would look and feel good.

The hemline achieved, Hermione pulled the skirt up, tracing her hand up Lavender’s inner thigh, then springing back to replace it with her mouth.

“Merlin!” Lavender squeaked. Hermione removed her mouth from Lavender’s thigh with a pop and looked up at her questioningly. “Yes, I give my consent, I was just surprised. Hold on, let me--”

Lavender fumbled with her skirt and reached into a pocket, _holy shit the dress had pockets_ , and withdrew her wand to cast a protection spell.

“There,” she said, tossing her wand onto the bedside table. “Have at it, then.”

So Hermione did, reaching up to pull at Lavender’s panties--they were lavender-colored lace, she noticed with amusement as she tossed them aside--and then holding her extremely muscular thighs down as she went to work with her mouth. _All right_ , Hermione thought to herself as she licked and sucked at the gorgeous skin there, _so here you are between a pair of thighs that could probably literally kill you. Just the toned thighs of a werewolf model because your life had to find a way to get more absurd than ‘befriends Chosen One following troll attack,’ and what else could have topped that? Nothing but getting nose deep in your school roommate’s--Christ she smells good, she smells fucking feral--come on, Hermione, you can’t give in this easy, can’t be the only one this desperate, go lower, that’s right, other thigh now--is she growling? Right. Growling. That’s good, it_ \-- The inner monologue was caught off when Lavender tugged on her hair just enough to get her attention.

“I know you well enough,” Lavender panted, “to know when you’re getting stuck inside your own head.”

“I’m not-- _ah_ ,” Hermione gasped, her speech cut off as Lavender tugged harder on her hair.

“Does that help?” Lavender asked, an edge of concern in her commanding tone.

“I like it,” Hermione assured her, though this was news to her as much as it was to her newfound lover (perhaps even more so).

“Good.” Lavender tugged again, this time guiding her higher. “Now are you going to eat my pussy like a good girl, or am I going to have to find another way to get your attention?”

Hermione whimpered--where the fuck did that come from, she didn’t _whimper_ \--and reached for the labia majora and parted the fine soft curls and _oh god no scientific terms stop it Hermione stay in the present what does it smell like--sex--what does it look like---purple, no, lavender lavender lavender, and gleaming--glistening?_

“Now,” Lavender growled with another tug, and finally Hermione was tasting her, lapping gently in a thorough exploration. She liked to take her time on this, testing different areas and listening for the response her partner gave, studying what would drive her absolutely--no, that was another tug on the hair, maybe she should just get straight to the clit--there it was, the _taste_ \--she could do this, do what Lavender was snarling for, because she wanted it too, wanted that sweet pearl between her lips, wanted to suck and roll it around on her tongue, wanted to hear the gasps and whimpers that always came along with this.

Except Lavender wasn’t gasping and whimpering. She was _keening_. The sound was demanding and unfettered and _louder_ than any sound Hermione had ever heard a woman make in the bedroom. Hearing that was like a weight lifting off her shoulders, knowing they could be this way. And it was _hot_ , this intensity, this connection, it had Hermione gushing, soaking through her panties, and she needed to hear more. She insinuated her fingers in underneath her tongue, but Lavender tugged.

“No,” she said. “That’s not what we’re doing tonight. You’re going to make me come with just your mouth, and then I’m going to fuck you till you stop thinking in full fucking sentences, you swot.”

Hermione couldn’t argue with that. She withdrew her hand and started flicking her tongue faster, and Lavender started bucking her hips so that it was all Hermione could do to stay with her. She nearly tossed Hermione off when she started to come with a shriek, but Hermione held on and sucked her through it. This was more exercise than Hermione usually got in a week, and they were just getting started.

“Come-- _ah!_ \--here,” Lavender demanded when she was still shuddering from the aftershocks. Hermione crawled up and Lavender pulled her down and kissed her wet, panting mouth, licking away her own taste. Then she rolled Hermione over--not difficult, since at this point she was so astonished and so turned on you could knock her down with a feather--and reached for her wand again. With a few quick spells that Hermione only half-heard, they were both naked, and Lavender was holding something in her hand--something familiar and undeniably _purple_ \--

“Strap-on,” she identified weakly.

“Well.” Lavender frowned. “It doesn’t actually have straps. Magic holds it in place, you see.”

“Mmm,” was all Hermione managed in response to that.

“Is--” Lavender looked up from her preparations to take in Hermione’s expression. “Is that not what you…?”

“Hmm? Oh! No! I mean, it’s not, not.” Lavender blinked. “I may not be at the height of my conversational powers right now,” Hermione added dryly.

“I suppose I should be proud of that,” said Lavender. “But this is good, then?”

“Yes. It’s good. I like--yes.”

 _I like getting fucked_ , Hermione didn’t say, because just thinking those words made her blush from top to toe. Which--Lavender could clearly see her thinking them, then. Or her predatory smile made it seem that she did.

“Good.” Lavender put down her wand--she had been tapping the dildo with it, probably adjusting settings of some sort--and climbed back onto the bed. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

Setting the dildo aside for a moment, she loomed over Hermione, lowering herself on strong arms to dip into a possessive kiss. _Oh yes_ , Hermione remembered, _that’s what I was doing. Going mad with lust. Where’s your famous focus, Miss Granger? Stay on task._ Hermione was becoming pliant once more, and Lavender was moving her around as she saw fit, lifting her head for a kiss or exposing her neck to a trail of sharp little nibbles that made Hermione feel cared for and owned. The rigors of feminist praxis would not have allowed her to surrender this way to a man, as both Viktor and Ron could attest, but with Lavender? It was the easiest, and the best, thing in the world. Better still when Lavender’s teeth made their way to her breasts and her hand made its way to her inner thigh, the gentle teasing touch a delicious contrast to the sting of the bites. Then the hand was moving closer, combing through her pubic hair, tracing down till there was a fingertip right above where she wanted it, not quite touching her clit, and it was too much--

“Talk to me,” she gasped.

Lavender looked up at her, and smiled just a little bit.

“Of course,” she said, tracing her hand lower still, going around the clit in favor of slipping a finger inside her. “Of course you want to hear all about how I’m going to fuck you. Talk you through it while I prepare you, yeah? Get you nice and loose for me. It won’t take much, will it? You’re already so wet for me.”

Wet and squirming, as it happened, on fire with the joy and embarrassment of hearing Lavender talk about her like that. Hermione’s dark skin didn’t show a blush easily, but there was little doubt Lavender could see it right now, propping herself up on one arm so she could look at Hermione’s face as she slid a second finger in. So she could see Hermione bite her lip to keep from begging.

“Something you want to say?” Lavender asked, crooking her fingers teasingly. “Something you want, sweetheart?”

Hermione found her jaw clamping shut, because of course her Gryffindor stubbornness would rear its head at this of all moments.

“Come on,” said Lavender, now circling her fingers slowly. “You’ve got to tell me, or I won’t know what you want.”

A gasp escaped her lips as the fingers dipped just a bit further in, but Hermione didn’t say anything. Lavender kissed her, using the pressure to tug Hermione’s bottom lip from between her own teeth, her tongue to work Hermione’s mouth open, then leaving her that way so that all her gasps and whines could escape.

“More,” Hermione managed at last.

“More what?” Lavender asked “More fingers?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Then what? I can’t read your mind, sweetheart.”

“I want the…” Hermione trailed off, winced. Seeing the difficulty she was having, Lavender rubbed a soft thumb over her clit. That seemed to clarify things.

“I want the dildo,” she said at last, and caught Lavender’s eye, her face showing mixed vulnerability and triumph.

“Good girl,” said Lavender, withdrawing her hand and sitting up. “That’s right. I like it when you tell me what you want. Now turn over, all right?”

Her firm, warm hands guided Hermione to flip over onto her stomach. Her back exposed, Hermione felt a series of light kisses tracing down her spine, and she _ached_.

“Hands and knees for me,” Lavender instructed, lifting Hermione’s hips until she was in position. “Good. That’s good. Hold on just a mo, sweetheart.”

Then she retreated. Hermione looked over her shoulder just in time to see Lavender inserting one end of the dildo into herself, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as the dildo moved of its own accord, adjusting and settling.

“There,” she said, grinning when she caught Hermione watching her. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Hermione breathed, though she could hardly divert her attention long enough to get the word out. She was busy watching Lavender slide closer on her knees, then watching her face as she slotted their bodies together, letting Hermione get used to the weight of the dildo against her inner thigh. Watching Lavender watching her. Then Lavender reached out and stroked her hair.

“Is this how you want me?”

Hermione nodded. Clearly not satisfied with this response, Lavender leaned down to cover Hermione’s body with hers, jerking up her hips so the dildo rested against her, teasing her opening and pressing on her clit. When Lavender lowered her head to nibble Hermione’s earlobe, the world seemed to quiet, every little city noise fading away until she could hear nothing but the whisper that came next.

“You want me to fuck you? Want me to own you?”

“Yes,” said Hermione, because this made it simple. “Yours.”

“Good girl,” said Lavender, and the dildo vibrated against Hermione’s clit. Hermione gasped, and while she was still recovering, Lavender wrapped an arm around her and guided her up so they were both on their knees, flush against each other. Without leaving time to think, Lavender slid three fingers into Hermione, her other hand fondling her nipple. With Lavender’s tongue on her neck and the dildo vibrating at unpredictable intervals, Hermione felt surrounded, drowning in sensation. But she also felt so empty she was shaking a little bit.

“I said I was ready,” she complained.

Lavender went still.

“Oh. Right then.” And in a split second she had Hermione back on her hands and knees and was tangling her free hand in her hair as she entered her. Lavender left no time to adjust, which was good, because Hermione didn’t need it. She moaned encouragingly, trying to push back as Lavender thrust forward, seeking the right rhythm. The dildo was complicated, even helped along by magic; there was a little bit of resistance, a little bit of push and pull as they sought equilibrium. But they found it eventually, and when they did--when Hermione was just starting to get comfortable--Lavender pulled harder on her hair and gave the unspoken command to start up the vibration again.

From then on, Hermione’s analytical mind surfaced only in fragments, noting how the dildo vibrated in pulses timed to Lavender’s thrusts, how that must be some complicated charm work--how Lavender reached for her clit, seemingly impatient to see her come, and she wondered about how the human instinct for mirroring affected arousal and-- _oh_ , how everything turned white, how this was like flying without the risk of falling to one’s death--how sensitive she was after her orgasm, as Lavender fucked her through it and past it--how, when Lavender thrust deep and stayed put, the dildo’s vibration intensified--how, hearing Hermione’s overstimulated whimpers, Lavender slowed to kiss and caress her, breathe lightly on her neck, get her hot again before picking up the pace, going as hard as before and then harder, how she began to scream again, those throaty animal screams, every time they drew close and shuddered together--how she kept watching, somehow still in control, and chose just the right moment to bring them both off.

Hermione came without the urgency she’d felt the first time; she let the inevitable rush through her, let her blood heat and let her mouth open wide though she made no sound, let Lavender’s resonant moan resound in her, tried to capture it in her mind and _remember_. She wondered if she would as she felt the cool air touch her back, Lavender retreating to set the dildo aside before reappearing, turning Hermione over so that she could fit their pliant bodies together and kiss her deeply, sloppily.

Whether temporary or permanent, there was absolute affection in that kiss, and Hermione reflected on a time when she had been certain that the war would steal her future. Back then, she’d thought she would never feel this kind of joy, the mellow kind that said, _take all the time you need_. But she _did_ feel it. She had time--a hundred, two hundred years, if the data on witches’ life expectancy was accurate. Though it probably wasn’t. Scientifically, the Wizarding world was still stuck somewhere in the eighteenth century. At least they’d cottoned on to indoor plumbing--

“You’re thinking,” said Lavender belligerently, moving down to nuzzle Hermione’s breast. “ _Stop_.”

“Sorry,” said Hermione, though she wasn’t. “Can’t turn it off.”

Lavender made a thoughtful noise, sucked Hermione’s flesh into her mouth, bit down a little. Hermione smiled, taking in the sweet sting of it, thinking of the mark that would still be there in the morning.

***

When Hermione Apparated home the next day, Harry was sat in his favorite armchair with a cup of tea and a book, perched in the light of the lamp like a concerned parent.

“What are you reading?” she asked him casually as she put her bag down.

“None of that,” said Harry, setting the book aside. (It was a history of broomstick charming, because Harry Potter was an incurable jock). “Rather, you tell me how your night went.”

“I think you can guess well enough.”

“I’d still like to hear it.”

“What?” said Hermione irritably. “It’s not enough that I was wrong? You have to rub it in that I was _wrong_ about Lavender? That I kept her at a distance all through school when it could have been like this all along? That I made a snap judgment and blinded myself to the kind, clever, incredibly _sexy_ \--”

As she spoke, Ron flooed in, opening his mouth to say something to Harry, who shushed him with a finger to his lips, gesturing to where Hermione stood by the door. Ron raised his eyebrows but stayed silent.

“--absolute gorgeous _beast_ of a woman she really is? Well, I’m thoroughly chastened. I’ve just had the best sex of my life, you were right, I was wrong. There, will that do?”

Hermione had taken it upon herself to arrange some things on a nearby bookshelf, as she often did when she didn’t want to make eye contact. Thus she hadn’t seen Ron floo in, and she didn’t see when he stepped right back into the fire, red-faced and silent.

***

He gave a toast at their wedding, though, some years later.

“To Wizarding Britain’s great power couple,” he said. “May you strike fear into the hearts of men for decades to come!”

The sentiment was well received.

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> Like, subscribe, ring the bell...I'm v depressed, please give attention


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